


An Eye for an Eye

by MelayneSeahawk



Series: Good Omens Kink Meme [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Book Elements, Good Omens Kink Meme, Graphic Descriptions of Injuries, Hark! A Fight Scene!, Heavenly Warrior Aziraphale, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Show Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-23 23:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21328216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelayneSeahawk/pseuds/MelayneSeahawk
Summary: Nothing seemed amiss from the outside, the door still locked and the ‘closed’ sign still in place, but when Aziraphale opened the door his senses were assaulted with the smells of brimstone and blood, and his other senses picked up massive amounts of infernal energy. He tossed his knitting bag into a corner and reached into another metaphysical plane, withdrawing a sword. Not his original sword, gifted by G-d, but a serviceable enough blade for the purposes.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Hastur & Ligur (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Kink Meme [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535939
Comments: 14
Kudos: 164
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme





	An Eye for an Eye

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [Good Omens Kink Meme](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/) on dreamwidth, prompt: [one ends up with their wings brutally cut off, and the other is left to care for them](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=122472#cmt122472)
> 
> unbetaed, unBrit-picked

Aziraphale didn’t even know anything was wrong until he returned to the bookshop from an afternoon trip to the Tea House Theatre for a pot of darjeeling and their weekly knitting club. He was set to meet Crowley for dinner, something they had been doing almost every night since Armageddon’t and their ruse had tricked Heaven and Hell. It felt to Aziraphale that they were almost courting, still circling but now actually moving toward expressing the feelings they had for each other.

Nothing seemed amiss from the outside, the door still locked and the ‘closed’ sign still in place, but when Aziraphale opened the door his senses were assaulted with the smells of brimstone and blood, and his  _ other _ senses picked up massive amounts of infernal energy. He tossed his knitting bag into a corner and reached into another metaphysical plane, withdrawing a sword. Not his original sword, gifted by G-d, but a serviceable enough blade for the purposes.

His eyesight was good enough that he could see reasonably well in the gathering gloom, and he looked around the public area of the bookshop, seeing nothing out of place. But he could hear noises from the backroom, so he readied his weapon and cautiously headed that way.

There was a crumpled figure on the floor, dripping reddish-black blood onto the old rag rug by the coffee table. Recognizing the aura immediately, Aziraphale dropped his sword with a clatter and hurried forward, falling to his knees next to the other figure. “Crowley,” he said brokenly, reaching out but stopping himself before he could actually touch. “Good Lord, what happened?”

“Hastur,” Crowley said with a gasp. He shifted one arm away from his face, and Aziraphale could see bruising on the pale skin of his neck, glasses gone and at least one black eye and a split lip. “Gathered up some low-level demons looking for promotion, I guess, ambushed me at my flat.”

Aziraphale made a noise of joint anger and horror and let himself rest a hand on Crowley’s shoulder, but the demon below him screamed and arched his back, trying to move away. It was then that Aziraphale realized that, while the fabric of the back of Crowley’s jacket was intact, the material was soaked in blood. The demon was crying brokenly. “Dear boy, what did they do to you?”

Crowley seemed unable to form words, so Aziraphale resisted to urge to make a short prayer and clicked his fingers, miracling away Crowley’s jacket and shirt. The skin was smooth and undamaged, but it was still seeping blood, in two long lines running along his shoulder blades and down on either side of his spine. Aziraphale hovered his hand over one of the lines, feeling the infernal energy pouring out of it.

“Lord Above. They cut off your wings.”

***

Aziraphale had been a soldier, not a healer, but he did what he could for the bruising and the broken bones, miracling them away one injury at a time. But the slashes on Crowley’s chest had been made with a cursed blade, so he couldn’t heal them.

And there was nothing he could do about Crowley’s wings.

He sedated the still-weeping demon with a gentle touch to his hip, then summoned a human first aid kit. The injuries on Crowley’s chest weren’t deep, just long, and butterfly bandages would probably be enough to hold them closed so they could heal the human way. He taped gauze into place over the weeping not-wounds on Crowley’s back, unsure how to stop the bleeding.

Using his angelic strength and a bit of magical help, he gently carried Crowley upstairs to his bedroom, miracling away the dust before he stepped inside, laying Crowley on the mattress on his side. He laid a low-level blessing over the demon to prevent infection, and then stepped out of the room, closing the door quietly.

He’d been bottling his righteous fury throughout the whole process of cleaning Crowley up, not wanting the other demon to sense it even in his sleep. He went back downstairs to get his sword, and cut a gash into his right palm, using his own blood mingled with Crowley’s to ward the shop against any angelic or infernal interference, and disappeared.

***

He found Hastur lurking in a graveyard, looking pleased with himself. His arrival didn’t seem to surprise the demon, who smirked widely when Aziraphale appeared, showing off too many rotten teeth. “So, did the little traitor survive, or did the shock kill him?”

Aziraphale didn’t speak, just stalked forward, sword ready. “Oh, look at the little guardian angel,” Hastur said. “What are you going to do, angel, run me through?”

“Just tell me why,” Aziraphale said lowly, holy fury turning his eyes silver and sending his curly hair standing on end. His halo was even visible to the naked human eye, and fire ran down his sword arm and wreathed his blade. “You don’t give a fig about Armageddon.”

“He killed Ligur,” Hastur hissed, turning fully toward Aziraphale and dropping down into a fighter’s stance, blackened blades appearing in his hands. “He deserves to be punished.”

Aziraphale shook his head once and lunged forward, sword coming down to slice against Hastur’s chest. The demon tried to dodge, but Aziraphale held out his free hand, and the demon froze, almost hovering in midair. “No,” Aziraphale said curtly. He brought the sword up again, and in one smooth motion, relieved Hastur of his head.

***

Crowley woke slowly, not without pain but with less than he’d remembered from before he’d fallen unconscious. He was in an unfamiliar bed, but from the scents and the decorating sense, he had to be in Aziraphale’s flat.

“Good, you’re awake,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley twisted carefully until he could see the angel seated in a reading chair in the corner. He held a book in his lap, but somehow Crowley knew he hadn’t been reading it.

His normally impeccable clothes were spattered with with ichorous demon blood.

“Angel, what did you do?” Crowley croaked, biting back a groan.

“I considered bringing you his head, but I thought that would be a bit excessive,” Aziraphale said, calm, like they were discussing the weather, or which park to walk in after lunch. “But I can promise you, he’s gone.”

“Discorporated?”

“Dead,” Aziraphale said. “I haven’t tracked down the others, but I will if you’d like.”

“No, don’t,” Crowley said, suddenly queasy. “They were just doing what they were told. How bad’s the damage?”

“I healed all the damage to your mortal corporation that was made by mortal means,” Aziraphale said. He wasn’t looking at Crowley, instead he was staring at the wall above his head. “The cuts on your torso were made with a cursed blade, so I can’t heal them, but I think with proper human medical care they’ll be alright, though they may scar.”

“I don’t care about that,” Crowley said. “What about my wings?”

“Gone,” Aziraphale said, and his stoic facade cracked for a moment, revealing anguish that rivaled Crowley’s own. “I can’t bring them back.”   
  
“Of course not, only G-d can do that,” Crowley said. He pressed his hand to the bed and started to lever himself up.

“Wait! Let me help,” Aziraphale said, putting the book down and hurrying to his side. Crowley let him help as he sat up, shoulders hunched slightly. He realized suddenly he was bare to the waist and blushed; he hadn’t been this naked around Aziraphale in millennia.

“I need to see how bad it is,” Crowley said, trying to stay focused despite the excruciating pain and emptiness radiating from his back.

Aziraphale wordlessly helped him into the tiny bathroom so he could look at the bandaged cuts on his chest, miracling up a mirror to show him the gauze taped to his back. “Take off the dressing, I need to see it all,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale flinched, but helped him remove the gauze so he could see his back, blood still oozing sluggishly from his undamaged skin. “You should probably try to manifest whatever might be left,” the angel said softly, again not looking at him. “You’re leaking power, we need to stop the bleeding somehow.”

Crowley nodded jerkily and closed his eyes, concentrating. It felt like he was ripping apart his own muscles, but he managed to manifest what was left of his wings. Tears poured down his face, but he forced himself to open his eyes and look.

The right wing was completely gone, neatly separated at the joint between the humerus and the shoulder, butchered like a fowl for eating. But the left wing was more ragged: it looked like someone had broken the humerus clean through and ripped straight through the muscle to remove two thirds of the wing completely, leaving some bone and some of the structures supporting the scapulars and a few of the marginal and secondary coverts behind. It was...bad.

The torn muscles screamed, and the blood dripping down his remaining feathers made soft plopping sounds against the tile in the silence that followed.

“We should remove what’s left,” Crowley said finally, after long moments of silence. “Amputate it at the joint. Then maybe we can stitch it up somehow, and it’ll heal. I can’t be bleeding and leaking energy all the time like this.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. Crowley reached out and tangled their fingers together, needing touch. “I...I could use my sword.”

“You should probably sedate me again,” Crowley said. “I’d do it myself, but I can’t focus to…”

“I’ll take care of it,” Aziraphale said, squeezing his fingers, and the world went away.

***

When Crowley woke the second time, he was lying on his stomach on Aziraphale’s bed, the angel leaning over him. “It’s done,” Aziraphale said softly when Crowley turned his head and made an interrogatory noise. “I was able to cut away the remaining muscle and bone, and use human surgical thread to stitch up the area. You’ve stopped bleeding, at least. How do you feel?”

“Not great,” Crowley said, which was something of an understatement, but from Aziraphale’s snort, the angel knew it, too. “I don’t think this pain can be managed with magic.”

Aziraphale handed him a miracled bottle of pills. “Humans are quite ingenious, aren’t they?” he said with a small, strained smile.

“It’s going to be alright, angel,” Crowley said, dropping the pills to the duvet and taking Aziraphale’s hand, placing a careful kiss on his palm. “You helped me.”

Aziraphale shook his head, eyes bright with unshed tears. “They’ve maimed you.”

“Who cares,” Crowley said, holding his hand tighter. “I’m alive, we’re together. That’s all we’ve ever needed.”

“Oh, love,” Aziraphale breathed, then blushed hard when he realized what he’d said.

Crowley grinned brightly, the burst of happiness in his chest enough to drown out the pain for a few moments. “I promise you, angel, we’re going to be just fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> [reblog link](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/post/188846889664/an-eye-for-an-eye-melayneseahawk-good-omens)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/)!


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